Well, I hope you guys had a Merry Christmas (and a Happy New Year). My New Year's Resolution is to stop obsessing with Fanfiction. Reflecting on the hours I spend on the computer over everything else, I've just realized how I don't necessarily have that much of a life. D:

Anyways... thanks for all you people who reviewed since I last updated: Jarrtail, Awsomewriter123, Fwirl of Redwall, Zinachu, SilverZeo, Foeseeker, Kylyn, Cinnamonpool, Sanfrasm, ightwatcher (deathstorm), and Red Squirrel Writer . Thanks you guys. ;)

This chapter is a little early, mainly because I'll be on my way to Atlanta (or already there) by the time you read this. So, I won't get much time to write for quite a while considering the fact that I'm not going to be around. Also, my mid-terms are coming up soon so I'll be a little busy for about 2 or 3 weeks, so don't expect that many updates in the next month.

Questions and Answers

Jarrtail: Thanks for the heads-up about the unnecessariness (is that even a word?) of my summaries. I guess it does promote laziness in reading. :P So, I'm going to stop doing that because it's a pain to write and stuff. I will make exceptions of certain chapters though. And yeah, I guess the plot so far is kind of confusing. You summed it up clearly though.

Awsomewriter123: I thought that Nyara and Ragnar would hate each other the most, I guess. And well, you're right about Thanatos's tantrums making him seem more childish than usual. If you remember, I kind of hinted his "anger management" problem throughout his entire presence and I thought, "hey, if anything's going to tick him off, it would be Dagmor knocking him over and disgracing him in front of his own enemies." :P

Zinachu: Well, I have to give Kudos for you for solving the little hint I threw in about wolves in the last chapter. It's not mentioned in her review, so don't bother. Also, I liked what you said about Fenris: "I love his personality, his coldness to others and how he knows what he's here for, not to serve, but to kill." YES! Exactly. :D

Kylyn: Sorry for the confusion in names. I'll try harder next time. Here's the thing though:
Sigma: the actual seer/soothsayer (mid-fifties); snow vixen
Gargo: the apprentice (early 20's); snow fox

Foeseeker: Thanks for the compliment about the dialogue (and sorry for the confusion in names). I did have trouble with the whole way I called Nyara "the female" and "she-cat" sometimes. And as for the sexism in the last chapter, I'm really not sexist. It's just Ragnar's thoughts and stuff (and Thanatos is a bit sexist too, but not in a demeaning way). And yes, haha, I can't call Nyara "lynxmaid". XD

Sanfrasm: Yup, poor Basilisk was pretty much kidnapped from his home. So now, the Basilisk is at their mercies here, and as long as he does what he's told, he won't have to die in this frozen wasteland.

Lightwatcher (deathstorm): Since you were heartbroken at Chapter 19, I'm not sure if you want to read all the depressing parts about Keetch's "verminness". I really wanted Keetch to go back for Brink too, but it would just make a better story of redemption if Keetch had something to regret. I have to say, though, if you do force your way up to this chapter, kudos to you. ;)

Red Squirrel Writer: Very good point about Thanatos's outbursts. Well, people haven't stabbed him yet because these tantrums only occur when he's seriously ticked off, so I guess they're less common than you think. Oh yeah, and Nyara can't really control the Basilisk because she's a girl, whereas only the first-born SON of the king can do that. I'm not sexist, just to tell you. It just seemed to work for the plot. And good job noticing Fenris's "civil" nature despite his savage, cannibalistic diet. Well, let's just say his past and mentality will reveal all. ;) Plus, thanks for the advice you've given about the summaries.

To the General Public: NO SUMMARIES PEOPLE! I'M JUST PROMOTING LAZINESS BY WRITING THOSE! ... one of these days, I might even go back to delete those to make my chapters seem shorter and less intimidating...

Raw Breath of Danger

Keetch felt his stomach complain loudly. He'd already used up all his torches and he was reduced to stumbling around in the darkness once more. How much longer could he last? Whatever time he'd been spending down here, it felt like an eternity.

An eternity of darkness, and cold, and stones, and rushing water... Nothingness.

He shivered, hugging his arms around his stomach as if it could stifle its grumbles.

Was it right, following this accursed river? For all I know, it very may well lead to the pits of bloody Hell. It's so cold... will I ever see any light? If only I could have a second chance... I would change everything...

I would leave Greymorg as soon as I could... I'd find a place... a place to stay and call home...

He heaved a dusty cough.

... But... there's no going back... not for me, anyways...

At that thought, he staggered to the right. He would've crashed into the craggy walls if his paw hadn't caught himself. Breathing heavily, he began retching water, his head throbbing. Slowly, he sunk to his knees, not finding the strength in himself to stand up again. Right there and then, he just couldn't help but feel the chill claws of Death over his heart.

This is my grave then... I tried... I truly did, but it's just too hard...

He felt some droplets of water fall down the sides of his face- salty water.

"You can do this, Keetch. Don't give up now. You're almost there... You can still find your place."

The fox's ears shot up at the mysterious voice. It was deep, and felt like it came from everywhere. Naturally, it should have frightened him and made his flesh crawl, but strangely, he found the voice warm and uplifting.

"M-Martin?" he croaked, his voice lost in the roar of the river. He didn't expect a reply, and he didn't get one either. If the warrior mouse even responded, his voice must've been drowned out by the rushing waters as well. But still, his words did its work. It gave him a feeling of strength.

Keetch couldn't help but groan as he lifted one knee from the rocky floor, his calloused paws gripping the wall as he levered himself upwards. Suddenly, he felt a biting pain on his sides, as if somebeast was gnawing on his ribs from the inside. He gave a coughing gasp as he flinched, but he didn't stop.

Upon getting his footpaws back, he still had to battle to retain some balance, teetering backwards before he leaned heavily against the wall.

'Almost there', he said... He told me I was almost there... I just have to keep going...

His grip on the wall supporting him, Keetch continued to move forward. It was so difficult, fighting his creaking knees and the fatigue that threatened to envelope him. But he had to keep moving... he had no other choice.

Keep moving your legs forward...

Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right... Left... Right... Left... Right... Left... Right... Left...

Haggard, his figure bent and broken, lumbering in the darkness, Keetch lost sense of time again. It was as if his mind was a monotonous blank, as if Fate had pulled a suffocating cowl over his head.

And then the breeze came.

A glorious breath from the world of the living. He couldn't believe it.

It just didn't seem possible, but it was there. He inhaled again, tasting the earthy scent that caressed his face. It was a wonderful feeling, as tender as a mother's kisses.

Eagerly, he staggered forward doggedly, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He almost laughed as he felt the tendrils of wind brush against his whiskers, growing stronger with each step. So alive it was- so unlike the dead, stale air of the cave. Oh, he would never take it for granted ever again.

One moment his paws were skidding around on cold gravel, the next, he felt some soft material pricking against his footpads. He gasped, stepping back quickly at the strangely-familiar substance. Taking a deep breath, he took one experimental step, hearing the faint crunching and crinkling of leaves.

They were like music to his ears.

He took another step, relishing in the feeling of bare earth between his toes.

I... did it.

He looked ahead, his eyes adjusting to the darkened environment around him. Stars had scattered the night sky, a thousand lights just for him. And the river bubbled past him, eager to roll into the open woods, free of its underground captivity. And the trees were standing ever-vigilant around him. It was all so familiar and marvelous.

He let himself collapse right there and then, his eyes already closing, embracing rest for the first time. He would have kissed the ground if he had the energy.

Elsewhere the next day, the sun was high in the crisp, cloudless sky, and the birds twittered in the woods as the two figures stood around a clearing.

"Are you sure we have to do this?" Brink grumbled.

"You promised you'd 'elp me with whatever I needed, right?" his companion grinned mischievously. The sea otter only sighed regretfully, wishing he could be anywhere else in the world... or maybe just disappear altogether.

"But this is so... awkward and-and demeaning," he groaned.

"Oh quit your complainin'," Rosco laughed, "It's awkward... somewhat, but you did volunteer for it."

"No I didn't!" Brink objected, "You tricked me! Usually you need help with fishing or splitting logs or... something else. Not this!"

"Aw, c'mon!" he gave the other otter a slap to the back, "There's no 'arm in this. Besides, we're hitting two birds with one stone here... er... metaphorically, of course. I'm rehearsin' my lines and spendin' some much-needed male-bonding time with ya!" Brink only rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Let's just get this over with, then."

"That's the spirit!" Rosco punched him roughly in the arm, nearly knocking him over.

"Will you stop hitting me?" Brink didn't know if Rosco really didn't hear his exasperated or not, but he obviously didn't feel like responding to it.

"Now, let's begin," the riverdog said, clearing his throat expertly as he knelt on the ground on a single knee, "Brook, I can't really remember the words that crossed my mind when we first met. After all, we've known each other since we were little tykes stuck in our cribs. However, I do remember the words that crossed my mind on my eighteenth birthday. That day, we were skipping stones at the Abbey Lake, talking about whatever came across our minds. You were so beautiful and funny, and I remember thinking these very words in my head: 'This is her. This is the one I want to marry.'

"Now, I know- I know that I'm not the most responsible beast in the world, that it's my nature to frolic in the stream instead of do my chores, and play with dibbuns instead of talk with adults, but I promise you, I will do my best for you as both a husband and a father in the future. So..." he pulled something from his pocket. It was small and shiny, glittering between his thumb and forefinger. He held it up, grinning his milky-white trademark smile, the brass ring shining against the sunlight like a beacon.

"Brook," he continued, "Would you... would you... would... Bwahahahahahahaha!" The next thing Brink knew, Rosco's once-serious face cracked into a giggling fit.

"Hahahahahahahaaaaaaa!" Rosco took a huge gasp of air, "You should'a... should'a seen your face! You were so... hahahahahahaha!"

Brink, however, was staring down on his friend, who was on writhing on the ground, an obvious symptom of his laugh attacks. Sometimes he couldn't understand the easy-going otter. How could he laugh at everything every day? He was always smiling, always happy. Couldn't he take anything seriously?

"Rosco!" he crossed his arms again, standing over him, "This is supposed to be something serious. And this is your rehearsal for crying out loud. You can't break into fits of laughter in the middle of proposing to her!"

"Hahahaha... ha... ha..." Rosco sucked in deep breaths as often as he could, his laughter slowing to a halt, "Ha... sorry... ha... sorry, Brink. I'm so sorry. It was just so funny. You're right, I should... I should focus on this. Alright, go ahead and say your line... I'll be fine. Go on."

"Well I can't do it when you're lying on the floor like that!"

"Alright, alright. I'm up, I'm up," Rosco said hurriedly, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"So... finish that last line."

"The last line? Right, right!" Rosco got back down on his knees once more, the corners of his lips still twitching as he held the ring up, "Brook, would you do the honors of being my wife? Would you... kmffff... pffffft... " he barely managed to stifle another burst of laughter, "Would you marry me?"

Now it was Brink's turn.

"Never."

"What?!"

"I said 'never'," Brink retorted, "If you can't take a rehearsal seriously, then you're not ready for marriage at all. And if you won't be serious about it, it's not likely that she'd feel anything for the proposal either!" Rosco only sighed, hanging his head.

"Alright, alright. I get your point... I'll try again..." he took another deep breath of air, getting all that humor out of his system as he got back down on his muddied knees again, "Brink... would you do me the honors of being my wife? Would you marry me?" At that, Rosco gave his friend a winning smile.

"See? I didn't even laugh that time!" he announced proudly.

"But you asked me to marry you," Brink said pointedly.

"What? Did not!"

"Did to."

"Did not!"

"I said you did."

"Did not!"

"Fine, fine, fine! Whatever! I'll just say my line now..." Brink coughed lightly, clearing his throat, though his voice still came out as a strained, rough growl, "Yes Rosco, I would marry you." Grimacing, he held out his paw, letting the river otter hold it tenderly as he shoved the ring over his finger.

"OUCH!" Brink yowled as he felt the tiny ring pinch at his skin, "Get it off! It's cutting off my circulation! OUCH!"

"Oops!" Rosco started tugging at it, "Sorry, sorry!"

"Get! It! Off!" the sea otter shouted as he leaned backwards, trying to yank his finger back. And then finally, the ring released its hold and they both staggered backwards. Immediately, Rosco scrutinized the dainty ring for damages while Brink inspected his finger.

"Nearly took my finger with it, you did," he sulked.

"Haha... that was funny though. I'm hopin' Brook's fingers aren't as fat as yours! Ha!"

"Fat fingers?! Well, don't force the stupid thing in!" Brink muttered sourly, "I pray that it doesn't happen during the real thing... and did you really have to jam that piece of junk over my finger?"

"Stupid thing? Piece of junk?" Rosco's laughing tone died with those words, morphing into shock, "I'll have you know that this is a priceless family heirloom."

"Oh... um... sorry... I really didn't mean that..." Brink felt a reddish color rush to his cheeks.

"I-it's alright... I know, it really doesn't look like much..." The laughter in the air was silenced now, and right now, giving Brink an uneasy feeling.

"I'm sorry, though," Brink continued, "I shouldn't have said that..."

"It's okay," Rosco gave a reassuring smile, "I said the same thing about it when Skipper gave it to me."

"Skipper gave it to you?" Brink stood next to him now, looking at the "piece of junk" resting on his palm.

"Yup," he gave Brink another smile, but sadder this time- somewhat mournful, "He was going to give it to Aver... he was going to marry her..."

"Aver? Who's she? I've never heard o' her before."

Rosco heaved a heavy sigh, folding his fingers over the trinket protectively.

"She died... before he could ever tell her how much he loved her."

"... I'm sorry... but-" However, his friend knew the question before it ever left his mouth.

"She was killed by vermin." No wonder why he hates them so much. No wonder why he hated Keetch.

"... Oh... well, that wasn't-"

"That was what you were going to ask, wasn't it?"

Brink only averted his eyes, feeling ashamed.

"It's okay, though," Rosco smiled, though it came out somewhat crooked for once.

They shared a moment's silence together and all was quiet, except for the chorus of songbirds. Finally, Brink plucked up enough courage to speak again.

"So... did he ever fall in love again?"

"I'm sure he thought about it... wanted to... but..." Rosco shrugged, "No. Never."

And all Brink could come up with was a pathetic "oh" and a nod.

"So... I was wondering, Brink... Are you really leaving us?" Brink swallowed dryly. It was a question that made him grimace.

"I was really thinking about it," he mumbled, "But if you want me to, I could always visit, y'know?"

"We just worry 'bout ya. It's a little strange, because you were always so quiet and by yourself and now, we feel kind of like we've never really made you happy. Were you happy?"

"I was... that's why I'm stayin' a little longer. After all, I'm bound by my word. I'm staying for the Spring Festival... and I would've stayed for that whether your uncle asked me to or not." That was a good effort to sound cheerful. Not the best, but I really did try...

"You know, Jolin took the news really hard."

Of course she did. Brink could only nod politely, wincing at the words. He knew she was going to hate hearing the news, so he'd avoided her like the plague. After all, he just didn't know what he would say if she asked him about his decision. It was already difficult to tell Skipper, but to explain it to Jolin? He'd probably make her cry.

"She's talking about going with you."

"What?!"

"I think she's serious too."

Brink felt another one of those ominous gut feelings in the pit of his stomach, as if somebeast had plopped something uncomfortably heavy in his belly. And how would Skipper take this news?

The sun was now setting, and he'd been traveling for at least two days. Keetch had to admit, even though he had found his way back, he was still utterly alone. He had survived on the things he'd foraged; things like roots, berries, nuts, and pears, and they all tasted sweet in his mouth- even the bitter herbs.

But in his past two days of freedom, he had found himself some better food just once.

He remembered it all, how he had chanced upon a small hut in the middle of a clearing...

---

It was an accident that he'd stumbled upon the sight at all. He had heard some noise somewhere in the forest. At first, he limped behind some bushes, hiding from whatever potential dangers there were. He waited for what felt like forever, but the noises never changed their distance. Cautiously, he approached the sounds, hoping for some goodbeasts that might give him some morsels or point him in the right direction.

And for once, it seemed as though he had gotten exactly what he was hoping for.

He saw a mother bank vole humming softly to herself as she laid some laundry on a clothesline to dry. Immediately, he recalled kind old Ma Krammel, who died to protect him.

And then he saw her little daughter kneeling beside a patch of wildflowers, humming the same tune as she plucked up a handful of the fragile little plants. He thought of Clove then, how innocent and curious she was.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

That was the sound of wood being split by the father. He was smiling as he did his work, looking up at his little family every now and then, a spark of pride and love in his eyes. Why he thought of Brink, he really didn't know, but he did.

Hungry and alone, he yearned to go down and talk to them. It had been so long since he'd talked to somebeast, he wondered if his voice still sounded the same. Perhaps it didn't even work at all.

Instead, he just sat down, content to watch them in silence. It was strange, how badly he wanted to join them, but he knew it would never happen. Not for vermin.

As the sun settled back to its western horizon, he watched as they packed up after themselves and entered their cozy little cabin. As the stars began to rise into the darkened skies, he watched as the tendrils of smoke rose lazily from the chimney, and then there was a sweet, warm smell of spices emanating from their glowing home.

Grrrrr...

He heard his stomach growl at the delicious scent.

"No. I'd only disturb them. They wouldn't want anything with me..." But he still had to give himself one little excuse to interact with them. Anything at all.

"I need to know my bearings. I'd need to know how to get to Redwall..." he told himself.

Slowly, he got up from his sitting position, surprised to find how stiff his body was. Nearing the house, he felt as if every single step he was taking was a chance to change his mind. But still, he drew ever closer until he was finally at the door. He raised his fist to knock at first, but then he faltered, thinking better of it.

"It's still not too late to walk away..."

Too late. He was already knocking on the door.

Clunk-clunk.

He froze, almost as if he was startled by the sound. He fumbled a bit, his eyes darting around the clearing, looking for a place to hide. No! Why did i do that?

But again, too late.

"Mama! Mama! I dink somebeast's at the dwor!" a tiny little voice sounded.

"Oh my, it must be that old spickle-spike again! My, he's visiting us more often by the day!" the voice was a kindly, motherly one now, "Open it dear, open it!"

Immediately, the door opened haltingly as the little bank vole tugged it open. Keetch felt the candlelights' glow wash over him, more revealing than warming. The child's eyes widened at the sight of him, more of wonderment than actual fear.

"She still has to learn then..." that same voice rang in his head.

"Mama! Papa! Look! A fox!"

In less than a second, the happy little home was in panic. Keetch flinched back as the volewife screamed out of terror, slamming the door right in his face. And then there was a scuffling sound as the father blundered in his house, probably barring the door.

"Stay away from us! We've never done nobeast no harm!" The vole's voice was strained and angry.

"No wait... but I..." his voice faltered as he took a step backward, "I mean you no harm... if you could please-"

"No tricks, vermin!" that same voice growled again, "Get out of here before I get my hatchet!"

"But I-"

"I will! I'm warning ye!" he yelled fiercely.

"Stop!" it was the mother now, speaking in a hushed tone, "You'll make him angry!"

"He'll attack us no matter what!" the vole retorted. Now there was a thin wailing sound behind the door. The curious little vole was now in a fit of fear, sobbing hysterically. And then, there were more scuffling and hushed whispers.

"I..." Keetch began weakly in another half-hearted attempt, "I just wanted-"

The door jerked open and he jumped back in surprise as a steaming pot was shoved out, sliding on the floor only to topple and send some thick porridge on the ground.

"Take it and go away! It's all we have!" And then the door was slammed in his face a second time.

"But..." Oh, why bother? Miserably, he picked up the steaming pot by the handle and scuttled off to the edge of the clearing to finish the offering. After all, they probably weren't in the mood for any food- not after their fright.

It was the first warm meal he had in what he figured was over a week, and nothing had tasted better in all his life. It was simple oatmeal porridge with a smattering of nuts and cinnamon, but it tasted so good that he couldn't resist licking the entire pot clean. He must've looked savage then, practically drinking the porridge right out of the pot, his fur tangled, dressed in rags, a skinny and gaunt appearance. Well, vermin or not, he was a strange sight.

And when he was done and his stomach was content, he walked back to the cabin.

"It's only right that I thank them, I suppose, even if it wasn't necessarily an act of hospitality... but still... oh, but... what did I expect? For them to invite me in and eat with them?" He felt his ears droop at the futility of it all.

"Thank you," he mumbled as he set the pot on the ground. There was no answer and the entire house looked dead, but he could've sworn that there were terrified eyes staring back at him from the darkened windows.

"Do-" he made a sour face, anticipating another threat, "Do you know how to get to Redwall Abbey by any chance? I have friends there." That last sentence tasted like a complete lie, bitter on his tongue.

"Southwest. But please leave us. Please." It was the vole again, sounding more panicked and desperate rather than fearless.

"Th-thank you," he repeated softly as he retreated back to the harsh summer wilderness.

---

But that was days ago, and he felt himself getting closer to the abbey. He could feel it. For a second, he regretted just walking away like that. It was a good, caring family, and he didn't blame them for fearing him. After all the generations of bloodshed and cruelty that his kind had brought, this kind of reaction was only natural. After all, they did give him what he wanted in the end. Perhaps he should've warned them of the impending danger he foresaw? Told them to run to Redwall before it was too late?

No. They wouldn't believe me. They'd think it was a trick... Why would they trust me?

Elsewhere, it was late at night and the moon was just a thin, white cut hanging in the sky, shielded by a colony of clouds. Except for the crickets playing their songs in the forest, all was quiet and still. The birds were asleep in their little nests, fireflies floated lazily, and nothing stirred.

At least, the peace had lasted only momentarily. Rushing down the travel-beaten path were three figures, each of them panting from their long trek. They had travelled for many miles, the information they carried a heavy burden. Finally, the hares stopped along the path, exhausted from their efforts.

"How much... farther... Major Thatcher, sah?" one of the hares asked, panting.

"Not much... maybe about... three days... if we keep... travelin' at this rate..."

"Got any... tuck left...?"

"No luck..."

Crack! Snap!

Immediately, the hares' ears shot up at the sounds, scanning their surroundings for any signs of enemies.

One of the hares looked at their superior, eyes wide in her fright. "Sir-"

Snap! Crunch-crunch!

It was louder this time.

"Hide!" Sagewood whispered, "Quickly!" In less than a second, two of the messengers were tucked away behind a formation of rocks, fighting to control their breathing. Their leader, on the other hand, had leapt behind a bush not a moment too soon, not even getting enough time to shift himself to a more comfortable position before some beasts appeared at the pathway.

"I hate these woods," somebeast grumbled to his companions.

"Shut yer gob, loud-snout!" a stupid voice answered.

"Vermin! I can already smell their stench!"Sagewood thought to himself as he parted some twigs to get a better view. Sure enough, he was correct. From what he could tell, there were about ten of them scouting around, muttering amongst themselves. He couldn't count them all, but he figured that there were more stoats than anything.

"Perhaps they're just an ordinary gang, rummaging about on their own stupid business. The sooner they leave, the better. Let's just hope they pass right now..."

"I hate this place!" one of them complained, "It's so warm down here... Dang..."

"Quit your complaining," another voice snarled, his volume twice as loud, "You want everybeast in this country to hear us?"

"New to this country eh?" He could see their faces now; big ugly things, and nothing unlike what he'd already seen. Suddenly, one of the vermin knelt to the ground, sifting through the dirt experimentally.

"Quit playin' in the mud, you!" a fox commanded in that brutish voice of his, but the vermin didn't budge.

"I dink somebeast's been this way," he announced, pointing at the ground. Everybeast crowded around, torches held high up to see under the light. Even Sagewood, out of curiosity and concern, stretched his neck out, hoping to see past the crowd of vermin heads, but to no avail.

"It's fresh, but hard to tell what or 'ow many," one of them decided. The other vermin nodded dumbly and grunted in agreement.

"Oh corks! What if they find us? Where are Gregor and Danry? Who would they find first? Damn it all. I should be with them, making sure they're safe!"

The lone hare could only watch helplessly while the vermin milled about, inspecting the area around them. Once or twice, he held his breath as they came close to him.

"But what about Gregor and Danry? They're getting so close... So very close... Oh please let them move on. Please."

"What d'ye think we should do then? Report to the Captains?" one of the vermin piped up.

"Captains?!" Sagewood felt beads of sweat trickle down from his forehead. "You mean they're part of an army? The army that our scouts had reported? But what are they doing way out here? They're supposed to be traveling to Redwall from the Northwards direction, not from the West... unless..."

"Lookit! I got- Aaaaaaaah- grrrg..."

The shrill, blood-curdling shriek broke the his train of thought as one of the vermin fell with a thunk! and started writhing on the ground, clasping his throat as he thrashed. Immediately, the rest of the vermin snapped their direction to their fallen comrade, only to see a shaking, knife-wielding creature standing over the body. Sagewood easily recognized his companion.

"Dammit, Gregor, run! Run!" the Major urged, wishing that for once, the young hare would just listen to his advice. He didn't know what would happen, but he didn't expect the hot-blooded hare to use his head.

Wide-eyed and panting, Sagewood stared at the hopeless scene before him- a single hare against at least ten vermin. Watching as the foes closed in around his friend, he wanted so desperately to run up and help him. But what would be the point? He'd only manage to kill one or two before he himself was brought down. And who would warn Redwall then? He grit his teeth, clenching his fists so tight that his nails dug into his palm.

And poor Gregor, clasping the knife in both paws, was growling at them. But he might as well have been putting on a good show, since they laughed and sniggered among themselves so heartily.

"No! Don't be a hero, you! Please Gregor, just fight your way through one and make a run for it!"

"Ruuuuuuuun!" That was his last word of the daring hare as he charged at his foes, hacking and slashing blindly as the vermin fell on him, their cruel, rusty daggers and cutlasses plunging in and out of the air.

Immediately, Major Thatcher sprung to his footpaws and made a run for it. In his terror, he nearly ran straight into the foul-smelling figure, only to make a quick turn to avoid the collision.

He gagged as he felt a sharp tug at the collar of his suit. In sheer panic, he unsheathed his dagger and plunged it into the empty air, hoping that it would at least injure his opponent. He had never been so scared in his life. The world felt as if it was spinning around and around and around, and all those torch lights were spinning with it, and those vermins' voices were so savage.

He heard a satisfying scream as his stabs finally came to a heavy halt. In his pain, the vermin withdrew, the blade still embedded in its flesh. Just as he lost his grip on his weapon, Sagewood could only yelp as he felt a hefty kick in his stomach as the vermin lashed out. He stumbled on the ground, feeling sick and dazed.

All he wanted to do now was to kneel over the ground and retch, but he couldn't even muster the wits to do just that.

"Oof!" In his moment of weakness, lying flat on the ground with his soft stomach exposed, one of the vermin stomped down on his shoulder. He gave another cry of pain as the cruel beast dug his heel into it.

"I got 'im! I got 'im!

It was so hard to tell what was happening. All he knew was that it was dark... so many sounds... and what was that thing standing on him? Was it a weasel? A fox? A ferret? It didn't matter and he couldn't tell anyways. All he knew was that he wanted the pain off!

In his moment of desperation, he kicked his footpaws up, catching his assailant in the stomach. Winded, the assailant released him and reeled backwards. Sagewood staggered back on his knees, his mind awhirl.

"Ugh!" he grunted as he felt an impact slap on his back. He knew right then that some steel had found its way to slice into his back. He spun around, half-expecting to see the hilt of a knife or something, but instead, he saw the pained eyes of another hare.

"No! Oh please, no! Not you too!"

"Run! Get out of here, Major," the haremaid coughed, blood staining her lips as the light died from her eyes. With a sickening thud, she slipped off of him, a knife hilt buried in her back.

If he had any time to reflect on the situation, Sagewood would have honored his fallen friends' wishes and dashed off to finish the mission, their memories on his mind. But this was all harder than it looked, and he wasn't thinking nearly as much about their sacrifices as he should've.

He jumped back, hearing the thumpingf of his speeding heart in his ears. It grew faster and faster and faster, until he felt as if it would finally tire out and stop completely.

"Please stop this madness, or I will go insane!"

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw two rushing at him, those wicked weapons of theirs cutting the air. With all the natural swiftness of a hare, he dodged their clumsy swipes, landing hard kicks on them. He didn't know where he kicked them, only that he had to fight them back somehow. Noticing that one of them fell, he snatched the short sword out of his paw, and in one motion, he raised the weapon over his head and plunged it into his chest.

"Gyak!" the creature gasped, and it was still, its breath stolen from him.

"Dead. Just like Gregor and Danry. Murdered like them." Without another thought, he ran down the dirt path, faster than he felt he had ever run in his entire life. It felt as if the entire world was wooshing right past him as the voices of the vermin faded with each step.

"Look! There one goes now!"

"After 'im!"

"Yaaaar!"

Sssss-thunk!

The hare leapt to the right, just barely avoiding being impaled by a javelin. With a gasp, he found the energy to give an extra spurt of speed, panting and running like the demons were after him. Jumping over logs, clearing streams, stumbling and sliding down hills- he did whatever he could to get away from them as fast as possible.

Only after he ran out of breath did he stop and sit down, panting. He collapsed on his knees, heaving and retching the most foul-smelling, evil-tasting stuff, tears streaming from his eyes.

Once that vile work was finally done and he had nothing left to rid of his system, he sat down on the muddy ground as he wept and shook. He now felt the biting wounds where the vicious vermin had trampled, beat, and stabbed at him. The most painful injury was the one on his back.

It was a deep wound, and had Danry not been there to shield him, the blade would have left a bigger, more fatal mark. It hurt to move now, but he didn't care. He didn't want to run anymore. He just wanted to curl up and cry alone in the dark.

"Gregor and Danry... I shouldn't have let you two come. Why? You were still so young and inexperienced. I should've been hiding with you when they came... Oh, but why didn't I? I was in charge. Why?! And Gregor... you died trying to protect us. You sacrificed your life to give us a chance to escape. And then I blew it. I ran straight into the enemy and Danry had to pay for it. She died for me... they both did... WHY?! I was the leader. I was supposed to be the one protecting you... not the other way around, damn it..."

He gave a strangled sob of despair as he bit his lip. He felt something slide from his paw, and then he realized that he'd absent-mindedly been clutching the vermin's short sword the entire time. He had kept his fists clenched around the weapon and had never slackened his hold until now, when he could find the time to remember and regret.

Still grieving, he looked it over, noticing the simple shape and the shining Ψ embedded on the hilt. Perhaps he would need to use it later? He prayed fervently that he wouldn't. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, he recalled his mission- no, their mission.

He had to finish it for them- they would want him to. After all, Redwall needed to know of the danger that is coming for them. They had no idea that the vermin were coming at them from at least both sides, boxing them in. He had to tell them. But first, he had to gather his strength. He had to rest.

And in his sorrow, he cradled his head in his paws as he sobbed and let the heavy loss consume him.

And my chapters just get more and more depressing. Well, the Brink segment was a little more light-hearted, for once. Um... well, I can't really say much more than that, since I'm trying to cut back on summarizing. :X

Did you find Brink's part funny though? Oh, and Brook was the one that took care of Brink when he first arrived in... Chapter 21, I think.

And as for poor Sagewood, sure he might've been kind of a jerk in his last (and first) appearance, but this is just depressing. I hope I carried the depression bit right. And as for Keetch's part, that's depressing too. Man, I just love giving my characters trauma, don't I? Ha, I'm such an abusive author!

Oh, and the whole action/suspense scene is for my loyal reviewer, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), since you've been wanting/demanding some action for quite some time. ;) Hope it was a nice little heart-breaking actiony thing.

The next chapter... well, part of the next chapter was meant to be the end of this chapter, but I decided to push it back.

Please remember to REVIEW and give any honest opinion, comment, suggestions, constructive criticisms, etc. because I really love to hear from you guys. I mean, look at the action scene I made just for Martin the Warrior (the anonymous reviewer, not the character). I wasn't going to put it there, but since he asked for it, I decided to (and I'm glad he gave his honest opinion about the lack of action too). So yes, I do listen to you guys.

Oh yeah, and remember, I still do those semi-spoilery character biographies still. :)

Thanks for reading.